


Monster Under The Bed.

by bliphany



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-03 05:26:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12741915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bliphany/pseuds/bliphany
Summary: She and her monster.Will include some elements I love, such as dreams, memories, mirror, and subconsciousness.May or may not become a series. May or may not in a chronological order.Just some fragments i want to try without planning ahead.





	1. Chapter 1

“Remember to feed the monster under the bed,“ the manual reads, which is not helpful at all, except there might be a monster in this room, and, well, there _is_ a bed, she can see it with her eyes, thank you. It gives no more information, like how often? And with what? Does it consume food, like human do, or it requires souls? What is a soul anyway? She doesn’t even know how she knows that concept. She is not supposed to.

For as long as she can remember, her world has been limited in this squared, pale room. To live is not a problem, food and water are provided through a cat door on the wall. It must be only for cubs, or, in this reality, her meals. It’s so tiny that part of a palm is all she can see. Four times each day, the palm takes away her tray and throws in a new one. She always reserves some. Four times each day, she puts food and water under her bed. She never sees the monster, despite what she puts there always disappear. She dumps in a tube that comes with the tray. She seals it. The palm takes care of it the next time it shows. She doesn’t have to handle the monster’s excretion, for it produces nothing, which is lovely.

To live is easy. Follow the rules. Supplies circulate in and out as if her room is part of a vein, part of a big, complicated system that she doesn’t understand. The air conditioner is the lung she shares with others, if there is any, at least, she has the monster under her bed. It might breathe. The rules are simple. Rule One: "Remember to feed the monster under the bed.” Rule Two, written on the other side of the manual, the manual is only a thin paper, “Do. Not. Open. The. Door.”


	2. Chapter 2

Why will she want to open the door? She wonders. Nobody knows what it like on the other side. There is no instruction. There might be a sudden cliff. She might step onto her forever falling before taking in the first breath outside the room. There might be darkness. Not like the place under her bed - a kind of dark made by light being blocked - but the darkness made of its own, so black and sticky it’ll be impossible to see its edge, impossible to figure out how many fingers she has if she puts both hands in front of her while walking. She might not be able to find a way back. Also, who is going to feed the monster if she is not in the room? In her countless-th time reading the manual, she realizes, Rule Two is not necessary.

Whoever wrote the manual, probably the same people have been providing her daily supplies and built the whole world in the first place, are not so smart after all. It’s easy to believe others are smarter - like she used to - or stupider than her, when she never meets them.

The exception is the monster, whom she gradually feels a responsibility toward. She doesn’t think it is smarter or stupider than her, it’s just the monster, who never comes out of underneath the bed, although she is not a cliff, and she is not the darkness made of her own. She is just nice and sometimes wonders maybe the monster doesn’t want to sleep alone, either. But maybe it doesn’t like cuddling. Maybe it doesn’t sleep.

She never sees the monster. All she does is putting a portion of food and water under the bed for as long as she can remember. But those are part of hers, she speaks out loud in the quiet, pale room, as trying to find a way to justify her feelings. Those are supposed to be part of her, too, elements to be taken in to extend her life. It’s reasonable to feel connected to someone whom she shares part of her life with, isn’t it? Just like the room which she stays is part of the system feeding her.

Does the monster ever think of coming out? Does it ever notice her existence, or to it she is only a hand that pushes food and water into its world? Does the palm giving her food and water come to care about her as well? Too many questions without an answer. She lies on the bed, putting arms around herself. Maybe the monster is lying underneath her like a shadow, even if it doesn’t sleep. She let herself sink into darkness, not the darkness made of its own - that’ll be too terrifying - just a darkness made by simply closing her eyes.


End file.
